‘The pink . . .’ Francesca nodded humbly. ‘It looks lovely on you.’
‘Baby steps, Cesca. They’re all I can take.’
‘Take them one at a time.’ She gave her mother a gentle kiss on the cheek. ‘Buonanotte, Mamma.’
‘Buonanotte. And whatever it is Alessio needs help with, remind him about tomorrow. He needs to rest.’
‘He knows, Mamma.’ With a kind smile, she left.
* * *
The long day on her feet and worry about tomorrow’s proceedings suddenly caught up with Francesca, and she felt tired as she pulled herself up the ladder.
But the scene that awaited her on the terrazzo stole the breath from her lungs.
‘Ah, you’re here. Welcome.’ Alessio stood from his perch on the lounger and made his way over to her.
‘What is all this?’
Illuminated by strings of festoon lights, Alessio had transformed the terrazzo into a makeshift cinema. The lounger was decorated with cushions and blankets from her apartment, and he had pegged one of the bedsheets to the retractable washing line as an improvised screen, weighed down at the lower corners by well-placed saucepans.
Over his shoulder Francesca noted their projector from the restaurant storeroom, blasting a dust-catching beam of light onto the bedsheet. It took her a moment to realise that it was actually projecting the opening shot of a film frozen on the cotton, billowing ever so gently in the light breeze.
Ma no . . .
She clasped her hands over her mouth, and behind them she gasped, ‘Cinema Paradiso . . .’
Alessio closed the gap between them and caught her waist in his hands. ‘I promised we wouldn’t go to the cinema, but not that the cinema wouldn’t come to us.’ His game face was replaced by a sheepish smile, and she reached out to playfully grab his nose.
‘Ale . . .’
‘Tonight is about us. For us to have some time to explore this.’
She melted as his right hand crept around her back and trailed a seductive line up her spine, pulling her in more tightly. This close she could smell that he was freshly showered, that soapy clean kick tangled with his crisp cologne. She allowed her tired eyes to close, and he pressed his lips gently to hers.
‘Would you like to be my date tonight?’ he eventually asked.
‘Ale . . . this is too much.’ She turned and gestured to the magical scene. ‘You are too sweet and kind.’
‘It dawned on me today that if we’d gone to the screening, I wouldn’t have been able to make out with you during the credits. So, don’t think me too noble just yet.’
She laughed into his shoulder. Francesca knew they should be focusing on other things. She knew tomorrow would be a massive day, and rest ought to be their first priority, but this . . . It was just beyond anything her imagination could conjure. And on the terrazzo, too, a space that had formerly been only hers, but which she now gladly shared with Alessio. It was where they had started this journey of closeness. Their first meal. Their first cooking session. They had had their ups and downs, their moments of tension, and their first lovemaking. That mind-blowing, toe-curling sex . . .
Alessio lowered his lips to her ears, and she felt his hot breath caress her cheek. ‘I made snacks. Good snacks.’
‘You know I’m a harsh critic.’
‘You tell me how it is, I know.’
‘How good is “good”?’
He turned her around to face the lounger. ‘See that bowl on the right? That’s full of popcor—’
‘Ma dai! Popcorn is a standard-issue cinema sna—’
He pressed a silencing finger to her lips. ‘Oh no. Nothing standard about my crunchy salted-caramel popcorn. The salt is coarse and plentiful, and from the Adriatic. I made the caramel from the town’s honey. You will recognise the citrus perfume from the local flora.’
Francesca’s eyes widened. ‘Signor Ranieri, you have my attention.’ She pointed to the other bowl. ‘And that is?’
